


From the Shadows

by Leela



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Knifeplay, M/M, Scene Gone Wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 23:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The panic hits Tommy right in the gut. So hard, so fast that his throat closes up and he can't force anything more than a squeak out of it. A squeak that's so far from his safeword that there's no fucking way Adam could recognize it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the Shadows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChooseToLive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChooseToLive/gifts).



> **Prereaders** : minxie, batdina, aislinntlc
> 
>  **A/N** : For [this prompt](http://ragingrainbow.dreamwidth.org/34883.html?thread=201283) left by in [Aftercare is...](http://ragingrainbow.dreamwidth.org/34883.html) Raging Rainbow's pan-fandom aftercare fest.

The panic hits Tommy right in the gut. So hard, so fast that his throat closes up and he can't force anything more than a squeak out of it. A squeak that's so far from his safeword that there's no fucking way Adam could ever recognize it.

"So beautiful," Adam is saying. "The scratches are going to turn into such lovely welts. A pink mandala against your white skin." He twirls the knife, just enough for Tommy to feel the sharp point, and edges it closer to Tommy's junk.

Closer and closer, until all Tommy can see is a man from his past, and a vicious sneer through an overgrown beard.

_Guys like you always want it. You're fucking dick whores, always asking for it._

Tommy forces out another squeak.

This time Adam looks up and actually sees Tommy, focuses on him instead of the knife. "Tommy? Oh my god, why didn't you safeword?"

As Adam reaches for Tommy, goes to release him, the knife twists and turns, the point presses deeper, breaks through the skin of Tommy's stomach next to his dick. The scent of blood fills the air.

 _Old blood, Tommy's blood, spilling down the knife held next to his junk, coloring the hissed threats and promises of pain without pleasure._

Tommy's subspace, his safe-space, blows wide-open, fractures into jagged black pieces. His squeak erupts into a scream. He flails and struggles against his bonds, against the hands that seize his wrists, against the weight on top of him.

Eventually, though, even the blackest of the shadows starts melting back into the depths of Tommy's darkest memories. His scream becomes hoarse, barely a sound at all, and he can once again feel Adam's gentle touch and hear Adam's gentle, quiet, frantic voice.

"Tommy? Baby? Talk to me. Please? God, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—"

My fault, Tommy wants to say, not yours, but all he can manage is a choking sound. He shifts, intending to reach up and touch Adam's face to reassure him, but he's transfixed by the bright red wound on his wrist. 

"Huh." He brings his wrist closer, angles it this way and that, trying to understand how it happened, to remember when he did it.

"It's okay. I promise it'll be okay." 

Adam has a damp cloth in his hand, and there's a bowl of water and a first aid kit on the bedside table. Which isn't a bad thing, except that Tommy has no memory of Adam getting up off the bed and leaving him alone, never mind bringing Tommy into his lap, and that's a very fucking freaky bad thing. 

A shadow pushes forward inside Tommy's head. He tries to blink it away, turning into Adam's chest and realizing that his face and his hair are damp. "Fuck," he manages, then, "Please?"

The cloth slaps down on the bedside table, and Tommy flinches. A shiver starts deep in his gut. He tightens his muscles, tries to control the shivering, but his entire body shudders with the strength of it and the cut, low on his hip, stings every time. Tommy bites his lip and pushes closer to Adam.

"So sorry, baby." Adam keeps talking, stringing reassurances together, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Tommy just inhales Adam's scent, focuses on his voice and on the feel of Adam's hand running up and down his back, until something inside him finally relaxes and then releases. The shudders ease down into quivers and disappear. 

"I'm sorry," Adam is still whispering. "So sorry. Forgive me."

"Nothing—" Realizing that the word is almost unintelligible, even to himself, Tommy pauses, takes a breath, and licks his lips. He leans back, trusting Adam to hold him, and looks directly into Adam's eyes. "Not your fault," he says.

"I hurt you."

"Yeah, but you didn't mean to." Tommy reaches up with one hand and wipes the tears away from Adam's cheeks. "It was an accident. You were trying to help me." 

Adam closes his eyes and all but nuzzles into Tommy's hand. The salty wetness on his jaw drips into the cut on Tommy's wrist, sharp and painful and oh so perfectly grounding. He focuses on the pain and uses it to give him the strength to confess his own failure.

"Not just you," Tommy says. "You didn't know, because I didn't tell you. There's shit you needed to know before we started this. Like serious shit from my past. I fucked up too." He averts his head and bites his lip again. "Just hope I didn't blow your trust all to hell."

The silence after Tommy's confession is thick, catching in Tommy's throat, sitting on his chest, and fucking with his ability to breathe. He's close to hyperventilating when Adam hugs him close and presses his lips against the side of his head. 

"Don't, baby, okay? Not right now," Adam says. "Later we can talk this through and figure out where we both went wrong, but I can't do it right now."

Adam's warm and strong, and he's so willing to share both of those things with Tommy that Tommy just has to hug him back. It seems like small thanks until Tommy feels the tension seep out of Adam's body. 

_He needs me. Maybe more than I need him._

The thought is so fucking weird that it breaks Tommy's brain a little, but he can't deny its truth. Adam needs him, needs to take care of him, needs to be needed by him.

Tommy pulls back again, not sure what to do, until he sees how lost Adam looks. Then he finds himself saying, "Need you," before he's even figured out what he should say. It's the right thing, though, because Tommy can feel Adam's relief. 

"Lay down for me." Adam runs a shaking hand down Tommy's arm. "I won't hurt you again." 

"I know."

Adam's kiss is soft and sweet, and more grateful than Tommy knows what to do with. So he repays that care with the only thing he has to give: his sounds. As Adam cleans and bandages his wounds, washes his face, and wraps him in warm blankets, Tommy makes sure Adam knows how much he likes it, appreciates it, and needs it. 

When it's all over, when he's curled in to Adam's side, with Adam's arms around him, Tommy kisses Adam's collarbone and says, "I trust you."

Adam's breath hitches, his arms tighten around Tommy, and then he relaxes just that much more. 

"Trust you," Tommy repeats, because he's sure Adam needs to know it, and because he needs Adam to believe it. 

"Love you, too," Adam says.

Tommy raises his head, and Adam kisses him, licks into him, makes him feel protected, wanted, _safe_ again.


End file.
